Bayou Betrayal (4 page)

“Thanks, Mom.” He took the offering and planted another kiss on her temple. “You're the best.”

She blushed and shooed him away.

After settling the containers on the passenger's seat, he steered the cruiser toward the motel. How was the lovely Monique Harris going to feel about him showing up at eight o'clock on Saturday morning to share breakfast with her? Too late to back out now. His mother would no doubt seek Monique out and ask her about the food and clothes. She'd be crushed if he didn't deliver the goods.

No cars were at the motel, save the office clerk's little hatchback. Gary parked in front of Monique's room, praying she wasn't still sleeping. Juggling the containers and thermos, he knocked softly on the door.

Long seconds passed. Maybe she was still asleep.

The door inched open. Monique's wide eyes peered from the crack.

“Good morning. Breakfast is served, courtesy of my mother, who, by the way, is one of the best cooks in the parish.” He held up the thermos. “And coffee comes with it.” He couldn't believe that his nerves were as knotted as a cypress tree. Sure, he'd never been a Casanova around the ladies, but something about Monique Harris made him feel like an awkward schoolboy.

She hesitated only a moment before opening the door. When she smiled at him, his heart stuttered for a moment. He forced himself to calm down. She was a subject, nothing more. He had too much to lose if he didn't stay on top of his game. That was his only interest in her—solving her case.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I was wondering how I was going to go out for something to eat in my pajamas.” She took the thermos and set it on the little table by the window. “I didn't think the motel would have room service.”

He chuckled, admiring her sense of humor when he knew she had to be devastated. “And there's more. Mom gathered some clothes for you. Probably nothing worthy of a fashion magazine, but it'll be something to hold you over until you can go shopping.” He headed back to the car to grab the sacks when a thought hit him. What if she didn't have any money to buy clothes and other necessities? She'd just bought a house.

“Oh, my.” Monique took one of the sacks from him and set it on the foot of the bed. “Wow. This is too much. Your mother didn't have to do all this.”

Heat crept up his neck. Was she insulted? “That's just the way Mom is, always wanting to help. She doesn't mean anything by it.” He set the remaining bags beside the other and took a seat in one of the two chairs by the little table.

Monique tossed him a funny look, much like the one his mother sent him when he'd fidgeted too much in church, and glanced inside the sack. “This is wonderful. I'm very grateful. I didn't have a clue how I was going to be able to get out and buy anything.”

“Great. Let's eat.” He put one of the containers in front of the vacant chairs.

She stopped. “Oh. That's right, you need to finish questioning me.” She hobbled to the chair and plopped down, pulling the cheap motel blanket around her.

“We don't have to do that just yet.” He opened the thermos and filled the two plastic motel cups with strong coffee. “Why don't we just eat for now? We'll need to make arrangements for you to get your vehicle.”

“If it wasn't damaged by the fire. I can't remember how close I parked to the house.” She shook her head. “And I'd just gotten that SUV before I moved here. Traded in my old hatchback.”

“It looks fine.”

She caught his gaze over the table.

Her wide-eyed stare kicked him in the gut. If he did his job as he should, he'd be able to help this poor woman. And that's all he needed to worry about—doing his job. He cleared his throat. “I had to get my car last night, remember?”

“Right.” She opened the lid off the container. “Wow, this is a lot of food.”

“Mom believes in never leaving a table hungry.” He chuckled.

She joined in his laughter. “I can see that.”

“Would you like to offer grace?”

Monique froze, fork midair. “Um, you go ahead.”

His heart fell. She wasn't a believer. He ducked his head, offered a prayer and then met her gaze again.

“Sorry. It's just that after what happened with Kent, God and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now.”

“I see.”

But he didn't. In the roughest times of his life, his faith had often been the only thing that got him through. If Monique couldn't turn to God now when she'd lost everything else, she truly was lost herself.

Dear Lord, please use me to minister to her. Guide me to be Your witness in her life right now.

“C
an you think of any reason why someone would want to scare you out of town?”

Saturday breakfast was officially over. The deputy sat with his notebook open, pen poised and inquiring stare locked directly on Monique's face. He looked very handsome with that serious expression on his face. Even with her clogged sinuses, she could detect the hint of his aftershave. Woodsy and nature-y. And surprisingly comforting.

“I told you yesterday, maybe my new relatives found out who I am and that I'm in town and didn't like it.” She lifted what she hoped looked like a casual shoulder.

He shook his head. “I can't believe Luc or Felicia would do such a thing.”

“You won't even talk to them about this?” Monroe, Louisiana, wasn't exactly a metropolis, but at least they followed through on leads. In contrast, this small town policing left a lot to be desired. What had she gotten into by coming here?

“Sure, I'll talk to them, but I'm almost positive they aren't involved. Probably don't even know you exist. I'm asking if you can think of anyone else.”

Great. He'd
talk
to them. She could only imagine how that questioning would play out.

“Is there someone in your life from Monroe who could be threatening you?”

“The accomplice to my husband's murder.”

The pen dropped from his fingers to roll on the table. “Your husband was murdered?”

Time for the whole story now. She'd hoped not to have to tell this tale yet again, but knew that was just wishful thinking. Her mouth went dry. She took a sip of the now-cooled coffee. “Yes. Killed in a drive-by shooting.”

His eyes softened with his tone. “Would you mind elaborating, if you can?”

“Kent was a private investigator, one of the best in the parish. He'd even been hired a couple of times by the Monroe Police Department to work a cold case when they had nothing. He was that good.” Tears burned in her throat. When would she be able to tell the story without having her heart ripped from her chest? Maybe when she felt justice had been served. Real justice.

Gary laid his hand over hers. “I don't mean to pry. I'm just trying to do my job and figure out what's going on. Do my best to keep you safe.”

“It's okay.” She pulled her hand into her lap. “He was leaving work one night and was shot and killed.”

“Is that common in Monroe?”

She forced a weak smile. “Not so much.”

“Did the police ever catch the shooter?”

She nodded. “Someone's in prison for murdering Kent, yes.”

“But? I detect a bit of hesitation there.”

Pausing, she inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I think he had an accomplice who was never charged. I think one guy took the fall.”

“Why?”

“Because the guy in jail confessed to being both the driver and the shooter. His prints were on the gun, his hand had gunpowder residue.”

“Did he admit to having an accomplice?”

“No. He testified that he acted alone.”

“You don't buy it?”

“The driver and the shooter being the same person? No, I don't think so.”

“Why would he confess to acting alone? Protecting someone, maybe?”

“I don't know. I begged the Monroe Police Department to look into that angle, but they didn't bother.”

“What was the reason he gave for shooting your husband?”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “He said it was random, that he didn't even know who Kent was. He claimed he was high.”

“Did the tox screens confirm that?”

“Yes, but he was always high. A lot of drug usage in his history. Coke, meth, pot, pills…you name it, this guy had tried it.”

“But you don't believe he acted alone?”

“Not for one minute. It's too tidy.” She ran her finger around the rim of the plastic cup. “You're a cop—you tell me, how convenient is it that he hadn't gotten rid of the gun he shot Kent with, didn't even bother to wipe his prints off it and that he was caught before he took a shower and washed away the gunpowder?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “It smacks of having a patsy so the police wouldn't look any further.”

“If he was high then mayb—”

She shook her head. “You know better. Those guys—the ones who do drugs daily, the career criminals—they know how to cover their tracks. Why didn't he? And why'd he confess so quickly? According to the detectives, they didn't have a single clue before an anonymous tip led them straight to this guy.”

“Why would this guy take the full heat? Confess to acting alone?”

Exactly. “That's what I hounded the police to ask themselves.”

“And?”

“And they told me that sometimes bad things happen to good people. End of story. Case closed. They never even uncovered who that anonymous tipster was.”

He rolled the pen between his forefinger and thumb. “So why would someone tied into your husband's murder threaten you here? How do you figure a connection?”

“Maybe because they know I'm not going to give up on finding everyone involved in Kent's death. I won't stop until I get to the truth.” Her heart raced. She couldn't. She owed it to Kent. And herself. “I just needed to take a break from everything. Clear my head.”

“That still has no bearing on you being in Lagniappe.”

He had a point. “No, but I can't think of anyone else who would want me to leave. I just got here. Maybe they're trying to scare me—period. Or distract me from the truth so I don't think it's connected.”

“Have you spoken to anyone here? Someone who maybe acted strangely toward you?”

“No.” She rubbed her thumb against the bandages on her hand. “But it could be linked to Kent's murder. They'll do anything to make me stop, even burning down my house with me inside.”

“We don't know the cause of the fire yet.”

She did. “I smelled something strange. I know it was set, I know it.”

“We'll have to wait for the official report before we can treat it as arson. Until then, I need to ask you a few more questions.”

Didn't the police always have a
few more questions?
“Of course.”

“Walk me through what you did last night before retiring.”

She picked at the gauze on her hands. “I grabbed a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for supper, so I know nothing was left on in the kitchen. I haven't used the stove or oven at all since moving in.” She met his stare with a tilt of her chin. No way were they going to tell her the fire was a result of her actions.

“Then what?”

“I cleaned up the kitchen and took a shower.”

“That would be in the master bathroom?”

“Yes.” No, she'd walked up the stairs and used the bathroom there. What kind of question was that?

“And after your shower?”

“I crawled into bed and went to sleep.”

He scratched notes. “And you heard nothing? Saw nothing until you were awakened?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. If only she
had
seen or heard something. “I woke up to the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling.” Monique shivered. She'd never forget those sounds for as long as she lived. They'd haunt her dreams.

“About what time did you go to bed?”

She let out a deep breath, trying to recall. “Best guess would be around ten-ish. I was tired, really exhausted, and just wanted to get a good night's rest.”

He nodded as he wrote. “I'll get the time the 9-1-1 call came into dispatch.” He set down the pen and met her gaze. “Anything else you can think of? Even something minor you think doesn't matter. It could be important.”

As if she hadn't been told the same thing before? The investigators handling Kent's murder had drilled that line into her head over and over again, like a mantra. “I can't think of anything else.”

He stood, shutting his notebook and slipping it into his shirt pocket. “Why don't I let you get ready and then I'll take you to get your car?”

“Sounds good.” She stood, balancing on her tiptoes to avoid putting pressure on her feet. The pain medication from the night before had long worn off, and she'd forgotten to take a pill this morning. “It shouldn't take me longer than thirty or forty minutes to get ready.”

“No rush. I've got a couple of things to do. I'll just pick you up in an hour.”

She saw him out, then leaned her back against the closed motel door. Did he believe her? He hadn't seemed eager to entertain the notion of someone setting her house on fire. But she knew the truth. That call had been a warning. Now she knew someone didn't want her in town and they were serious.

Even if the police blew her off, she'd figure out on her own who was behind the threat and the fire. And why they didn't want her in Lagniappe.

 

Why would someone try to run Monique Harris out of town?

Gary sat in the cruiser, reviewing his notes. He'd have to make a full report sometime today, but he didn't want to slant it toward arson if there was a logical reason her house had caught fire. And he didn't want to mention the threatening phone call if Monique had fabricated the whole thing.

His gut told him that despite the ordeal and the trauma she'd undergone in the last year, Monique Harris wasn't melodramatic or delusional. She seemed levelheaded and calm, even when listing her reasons to believe someone was after her, with no proof.

She was also very attractive. The type of woman who was both strong and vulnerable at the same time, making him want to protect and stand beside her. His mother had seen it, too. Still, she was a subject in an ongoing investigation. He was the lead officer. To be considered for chief deputy, he'd have to handle this case with kid gloves—do everything by the book, dotting each
i
and crossing each
t.
And not noticing things like just how pretty she looked in the morning sunlight.

His cell phone trilled.

He flipped it open. “Anderson.”

“Yes, son, I know your name. I gave birth to you, remember?”

Gary smiled at his mother's teasing. “Your biscuits and gravy were a hit. So were the clothes.”

“Oh, good. I wanted to check on that poor girl. How is she?”

Beautiful? Admirable? “She's getting ready now, then I'll take her to get her car.”

“Gary Anderson, you aren't in that motel room while she's getting ready, are you? What will people say? If you aren't considering your reputation, think about that poor girl's.”

He chuckled. “Mom, I'm sitting in my car outside the motel, doing some paperwork.”

“Well, good thing. That poor child doesn't need anything else poured on top of her. She just lost everything she has.”

“Don't worry about it. You raised me better than that.”

“I'd hope so.”

He swallowed another laugh. “I need to finish up some stuff before she comes out. I'll call you later.”

“Why don't you invite her to join us for supper tonight?”

“Mom, I already told you that I won't be able to come over this week. Not with the sheriff on vacation.”

“But that young lady needs some TLC. Surely you can manage for supper? Where's your compassion? It's the Christian thing to do.”

But would doing so put him in an awkward position with respect to the case? He couldn't afford to cause any raised eyebrows. “I'll see what I can do and let you know.”

“By noon, son, so I know how much to cook.”

As if his mother ever cooked less than enough to feed an army. “Love you.”

He closed the phone and dropped it into the console, then went back to his thoughts on Monique's allegations. No, Monique wasn't a crackpot. She'd endured a very hard and trying situation, but she wasn't a loon.

First things first, though. He'd call Felicia Trahan Bertrand and see if she even knew about Monique's connection to Justin Trahan. Monique's accusing Felicia or Luc of making the threatening phone call still made him chuckle. Once she met them, she'd see how outlandish the notion was herself.

The police radio squawked to life. “Deputy Anderson, come in.”

He smiled at the dispatcher's twang as he lifted his mic. “Go ahead, Missy.”

“Need you back at the station. Fire chief's here, needing to talk to you pronto.”

Gary glanced at his watch, then back at the motel door. Forty minutes remained on the hour he'd given Monique. “Roger that. On my way.”

He put the car in gear and steered toward the sheriff's station. No traffic slowed the straight shot into downtown. He parked in the sheriff's space and sauntered into the station, heading back to the sheriff's office.